This is a parody of Harry Potter I DID NOT WRITE.
Buddy Fubbler and the Wizard's Woozle
By R.T. Leahy
Chapter One
It was just midnight at the house at number 15, Greater Cankerporridge, and one of its residents was still wide awake. Part of the reason was because it was his birthday -- after all, a boy doesn't turn 11 every day! -- but mostly it was because he was crammed lengthwise into the filing cabinet in which his aunt and uncle made him sleep.
This boy's name was Buddy Fubbler, and he was quite like any normal eleven-year-old you are likely to find, with the exception of the filing cabinet thing, and the fact that he was an orphan whose only living relatives hated him, and that he had a strange, rather large hole clean through his head in the shape of a perfect circle. Also, his classmates at school called him "Stinky," but that really has little bearing on the story.
Buddy looked down at the bed of old documents he was forced to sleep on -- he had torn out a few letters from several old gas bills and rearranged them to spell "Happy Birthday To Me," and was grinning proudly at his work when from downstairs there came a great pounding, as if in the manner of someone large and hairy attempting to open the door. Buddy, his aunt and his uncle all sprang from their various sleeping accommodations and rushed downstairs, just in time to see the front door burst off its hinges.
"Woops," growled the large, hairy man as he lumbered inside the battered doorway, being met with the horrified stares of all inside, "Now then, which of ye're Buddy Fubbler?"
Buddy was given a swift kick by his uncle, propelling him forward. He caught himself, looked up at the wild-looking man, and said, "I-I am, sir."
"Right, then," said the man, "I have somethin' for you." He reached into his great, filthy brown cloak, pulled out a piece of tattered parchment, unfolded it, and read, "'Dear Buddy Fubbler: We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Swinebugger's Institute of Sorcery.' That's two pounds postage due, thanks. Or I squish you."
"Hang on," said Buddy, quickly digging out two pound, "Are you saying I'm a sorcerer? I can't be, I simply cannot! It's quite Impossible!"
"Tell me, lad," said the great, hairy man, "Have you ever made anything magical happen, by accident? Have you ever caused wonders and terrors such as could not be created by any natural means?"
"Oh, yeah," said Buddy, "That."
The hairy man straightened up and said, "Yer indeed a sorcerer, Buddy, just like your parents, before they were murdered!"
"Hey!" said Buddy, rounding on his cowering aunt and uncle, "You said my parents were insurance salesmen! You said they died in a bizarre accident which left me with this hole in my head!"
"Slip of the tongue," said Buddy's uncle.
The great, hairy man roared, "You told him the Fubblers died in an accident?! What sort of accident?"
"Drowned," replied Buddy.
The hairy man peered quizzically at the hole in Buddy's head.
"And you never suspected they were lying?"
"Lay off," said Buddy, "I have a hole in my head."
Chapter Two
The next morning, the hairy man and Buddy set off for London in the back of a magical taxi, which was like a normal taxi, except magical. Buddy spent the drive watching the countryside pass by his window in the cold, early-morning light, while the hairy man kept busy scratching himself in futile yet frantic attempts to keep his enormous quantities of biting parasitic insects at bay. At last they reached the center of the city, and the hairy man and Buddy disembarked, the latter magically feeling more itchy than when he had boarded.
“All righ‘, then, Buddy,” said the hairy man, “It’s time ter fetch yer school supplies!”
Buddy peered at the list of required materials included with his school letter; live rats, newts’ eyes and frog’s liver were displayed prominently at the top, with the list growing progressively more foul as it went on.
“Can we really find all this stuff in the city?” asked Buddy.
“You haven’t tried enough British cuisine,” said the hairy man.
An hour later, Buddy was boarding a mystical bus or something laden with small, live animals, small, dead animals, assorted animal parts, a tree sloth named “Huggybear,” and a ticket to Swinebugger’s Institute of Sorcery, with a stop in Edinburgh. As the bus started away, Buddy remembered the hairy man’s parting words:
“I’ll be catching up to y’ at the school, Buddy; right now I have t’ see a man about top-secret Swinebuggers’ business. Oh, and if y’ use some o’ that shampoo I showed ye, the mites’ll fall right out.”
Chapter Three
When Buddy arrived at Swinebuggers, he discovered that it was very big and magical. Buddy followed a line of children his age as they filed into a spacious dining hall, where start-of-term ceremonies were about to commence. Just as Buddy was about to take a seat at a long table, he ran into a sinister-looking boy with slicked-back hair and shifty eyes. The boy studied the hole in Buddy’s head for a moment or two, then spoke.
“You must be Buddy Fubbler,” said the lad in a haughty tone. “I’m Snarky McFinkington. We’re probably going to be rivals.”
“I figured,” said Buddy, and sat down.
A grand feast commenced, during which Buddy met several of his fellow students, including a tall, freckled boy named Daniel Verminn and an insufferable yet strangely-endearing smarty-pants named Penelope Smudgenose. When the feast had ended and all the students were leaning back in their seats, moaning and loosening their belt buckles, the school’s old, bearded headmaster, Professor Gooberpoodle, arose and began his start-of-term announcements. The hall became immediately silent save for his voice, and the occasional sustained, rampant taco belch.
“My students,” he said with much emotion, “it brings me great pleasure to welcome you to your first year at Swinebuggers.” Professor Gooberpoodle gave the entire assembly a warm smile, then continued, “Well, that about does it. Everybody, hit the hay.”
The crowd began to rise from their seats and leave, but as Buddy did the same, he was motioned over to the faculty table by Gooberpoodle. When he arrived, Gooberpoodle appraised the hole in Buddy’s head, and said, “At last we meet, Mr. Fubbler.”
“Pardon me, sir,” said Buddy, “But how is it that so many people seem to know about me, and the hole in my head?”
Gooberpoodle smiled down at Buddy, in a sad, paternal sort of way, and replied, “Well, you have a hole, Buddy. In your head. Clean through. That’s pretty darned weird, Buddy, even in sorcerer’s circles.”
“Oh,” said Buddy, feeling rather let down. “You’re sure it’s not a scar from some evil sorcerer, trying to kill me?”
“Well,” said Gooberpoodle, his kindly eyes sparkling, “To tell the truth, the current favorite in the office pool is that it was some sort of incident with an apple-coring machine. Now get to bed, you‘ve a big day ahead of you!”
With that, Buddy walked to his dormitory, unaware that there was an evil sorcerer lurking somewhere in the school, hoping to kill him.
Chapter Four
Much of the school year passed without incident. Buddy was magically mediocre in most of his classes, and as the novelty of the hole-in-the-head thing had worn off on his fellow students in the space of the first two weeks, Buddy was left feeling quite unremarkable and unappreciated. Out of desperation, he had taken to performing a comedy routine which consisted of pulling strange and unlikely items out of the hole in his head and pretending that he had no idea how they got there, but after a week straight of this, even Buddy’s friends Dan and Penelope were showing strains to muster even the faintest laugh, and it all came crashing to an end one day, anyway, when Buddy accidentally got a small pig lodged in the hole and had to be taken to the school nurse for cranial extraction.
It just so happened that in the school infirmary, Buddy spied an older student one bed over, wearing a cast on his left leg and arm.
“Blimey,” said Buddy, “What happened to you?”
“Quabbage,” replied the student. “You know, our school game. And a very, very dangerous game, as you can see.”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Buddy, “It sounds exciting! When you’ve healed up a bit, do you think it would be possible for you to show me how to play?”
“Heck, I can show you now, lad,” said the student, pulling a small deck of cards from his knapsack, “Mind, I’m not very good at it, myself, but I’ll bet you’ll be a quick study! Just to make it interesting, how about we put it at three pounds a hand?”
Much to the his surprise, however, Buddy actually was a quick study, and cleaned the older student out fast. Buddy left the infirmary in high spirits, as threats against his health were hurled after him, and in the subsequent months became a Quabbage star within the school, as evidenced by his expanding wallet and frequent return trips to the infirmary.
As Buddy limped back from a particularly successful Quabbage match one day, he happened across a large tent on the borders of the school grounds, where the large, hairy man was quarantined until he could get his louse problem under control. Buddy overheard the hairy man and Professor Gooberpoodle arguing about something, and leaned close to the flap of the tent to try and make it out.
“The safest place for it is in the inner chamber,” came Gooberpoodle’s muffled voice, “But we should discuss this no more, for young Buddy Fubbler is outside the tent right now, listening to every word we say.”
Gooberpoodle’s hand opened the tent flap, and sheepishly, Buddy entered.
“How did you know I was out there?” He asked. “Did you use your vast magical powers?”
“It’s a tent, buddy. A really thin tent. With a mosquito-netting door flap.”
“I don’t get you,” said Buddy, the sun shining warmly through the hole in his head, “But no matter; what were you talking about? What are you hiding?”
Gooberpoodle heaved a deep sigh, and looked at Buddy gravely.
“What I tell you now, Buddy, you must never tell another soul. The object we are trying to hide… is a woozle.”
Buddy stared blankly at Gooberpoodle. Gooberpoodle looked back, then spoke again.
“Its name is ‘Peanut.’” he said.
Chapter Five
That very night, Buddy, Dan and Penelope snuck out of their dormitory and resolved to find the Wizard’s Woozle, because Buddy was kind of a blabbermouth, they were sort of curious, and their respective schedules really weren’t packed that tight. Down the trio snuck, through the big, magical halls, until they reached the doors of the outer chambers of the Hall of Hiding Stuff. Just as they were about to enter, a drawling voice called out to them:
“Well, if it isn’t famous Buddy Fubbler,” said Snarky McFinkington, climbing the stairs on the opposite side, “Out for a midnight stroll, are you? Hoping to become big heroes, get your names in the paper?”
Dan was grated.
“Let’s just beat him up,” he said.
So they did.
In they went, past the outer chamber and the not-so-outer chamber, until finally they reached a great, stone door, which had an enormous assortment of locks and bolts running its perimeter. However, due to a planning oversight, the door itself had actually been installed backwards, so they merely turned the locks and unbolted the bolts, then opened the door to the inner chamber. Inside, on a great stone pedestal, they saw the Woozle, and were taken aback to discover what it really was.
“I’ll be darned,” they said.
Much impressed, they were about to leave, when out of the shadows jumped a mysterious figure, cloaked in black. He tossed his cloak aside dramatically and exclaimed, “Ha ha, it is I, professor Hepmunk, and you fools had no idea at all!”
Penelope replied, “Yes, sir, very true, but that may be because we’ve never heard of you before.”
Professor Hepmunk looked thunderstruck.
“But I was introduced in chapter two!” he exclaimed.
“No, you weren’t.” replied Buddy.
“Well, I was supposed to be,” said Hepmunk sulkily, and with that, he drew his arm back and tossed a javelin straight at Buddy’s head.
The javelin rushed forward as looks of horror spread on the three children’s faces. At the last minute, however, Buddy turned sideways, catching the javelin clean in his cranial hole, then tossed his head back to the other side; the javelin flew back out with a great slide-whistle noise, zooming straight at the screaming form of Professor Hepmunk.
With a spray of blood and a satisfying squishy sound, the children knew they had won.
Chapter Six
It had been half a day since the incident in the inner chamber, and Buddy was sitting up on a bed in the school infirmary. He had pointed out to the nurse who found him that he was feeling quite well, but she had been so thoroughly creeped-out by the hole in his head that the infirmary staff insisted he spend a day under observation, just to be sure.
At about a quarter to two, the oak double doors of the infirmary opened, and in strode Professor Gooberpoodle, looking very somber. He took a seat by Buddy’s bed, and Buddy put down the magazine he was reading. They did not look at one another for a very long time. When Gooberpoodle finally opened his mouth to speak, it came as a bit of a jolt.
“So…” he said, as though searching for the proper words, “Hepmunk, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” said Buddy.
“Weird,” replied Gooberpoodle.
“Yep,” said Buddy.
With that, Gooberpoodle got up and strolled out the door. And somehow Buddy knew, as he smiled to himself over a plate of infirmary-issue cold gelatin and string beans, that his next year would be even weirder.
The End
My personal favorite part is
When Buddy arrived at Swinebuggers, he discovered that it was very big and magical.
LOL.
